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sick days

I’m on sick day number 3 for a headcold. I wrote this to a friend elsewhere:

“the head cold from hell. I’ve spent the last 48 hours surfing the web, playing WoWpandas, and watching TV. Also, blowing my nose. There’s a nearly full grocery bag of used tissues by the couch, which is charming and I’d like the maid to come deal with it, but I don’t have a maid. Also, sleeping on a crazy-ass off-cycle cycle, sort of 2 am to noonish. we traded last night — bruised rib guy slept on the couch and i slept in bed on a mountain of pillows, instead of the other way round. our house is a fucking wreck of dirty floors and dishes, i canceled three other-problem doctor appointments and a business trip, and have lost three pounds probably because, y’know, food tastes gross when you can’t smell, and I’m probably dehydrated. On the upside, I CAN BREATHE TODAY using my nose and i don’t feel the need to swallow a handful of symptom-suppressing medication. Rock the fuck on, man.”

I’ve dropped so many professional balls this week that I can’t even see which ones have rolled under the furniture. As noted, our house is a disaster that needs a deep cleaning. My personal life and its organizational bits needs a complete overhaul, reschedule, and do over. There are Halls Triple Soothing Action Cherry cough drop wrappers all over creation.

But you know, I really don’t care all that much. I mean, sure, I dread trying to put the pieces back into some sort of logical not-woefully-behind order, and I dread tackling all of the things that still and yet need doing, but… I’m sick. I needed a break. My body aches and my head throbs and I can finally breathe but taking a shower sounds like too much work…

It’s pretty much the best possible sign that I have worn myself out. And I’m heeding it. The balls can just keep rolling under the sofa. I’ll find them next week when I can get off of it long enough to clean up after myself.

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